


Delusions

by Serena90



Series: Memories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Chan, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Heavy Angst, M/M, Molestation, Nightmares, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Touching, Pedophilia, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena90/pseuds/Serena90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron Weasley is starting to accept that they aren't just nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delusions

The pale redheaded stared at the window, the view was to the lively fields behind the Burrow but he wasn't actually seeing the green gardens. Being back home was a curious experience. The warm Burrow didn't feel safe anymore. A Death Eater had been living here for twelve years and his parents had never noticed. Ron had changed clothes with that rat in his room, he had slept hugging the rat.

The only one who could feel the same would be Percy. His older brother had been the one to find the injured rat near their home, twelve years ago. Five-year old Percy had insisted he wanted to keep him. Percy had hugged, pampered and slept with the fat rat in his bed.

But Percy didn't know his beloved Scabbers had turned out to be a Death Eater. The Headmaster had said not to tell anyone, to not cause panic. Which meant that Ron could only talk about it to Harry or Hermione. Thing is... they didn't talk about it. He didn't think Harry or Hermione realised what it meant for him.

He was still having nightmares. About those... things. He tried to tell himself that they were just nightmares. But, deep down, he knew that wasn't true. He didn't have the imagination to come up with all those perturbed things. He had tried to tell himself they weren't true because he was only remembering them now. But Ron knew that an obliviate could fade away or be overcome by a shock.

Had Scabbers done all that to Percy as well? He frowned. It was hard to think of his older brother as someone vulnerable. His older brother had always been so put together, so in control. But Percy had gotten Scabbers when he was five. A five-year-old wouldn't be able to do much against a trained wizard he imagined.

But he couldn't say anything about Scabbers. Dumbledore had ordered him not to. If he spoke too much about Pettigrew, they might find out about how Hermione and Harry had used the time-turner and then, his best friends would be in trouble. Besides, he would only look delusional, like the Minister proclaimed when he had told him about Sirius Black being innocent and Pettigrew alive. It had hurt to be dismissed like that.

He leant his forehead onto the cool glass of the window. It was... senseless. Everything seemed so meaningless. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. He couldn't tell anyone, they would just say he was crazy or an attention seeker. No one would believe him if he said that a First class Order of Merlin dead man had been alive and living as an animagus undercover and that he had _hurt_ him.

"Ron?" called him Percy.

The redhead had stiffened at hearing his name. He turned around. His older brother was standing awkwardly, his face was tinted with worry and his lips were parted as though they wanted to ask him something.

"Is everything alright?" asked the seventeen-year-old gently, his brown eyes concerned and warm.

Bill and Charlie had always been the cool ones, yet they had such an age difference that they were gone most of the year for him. Percy was the older brother who had always been there, the older brother he went to when he had a nightmare or didn't know how to do something. He had been the one who had punished the twins for transforming his teddy bear into a spider. He had been the one to teach him how to fly.

For a split second, Ron thought of just telling him everything, of collapsing in his older brother's arms and start crying, of letting go. But he could still remember Dumbledore's severe words and Fudge saying he was just "confused". So he forced himself to put on a smiling mask and answer:

"Sure"

 

A couple of nights later, he woke up sweating and panting, with a face wet of tears. He laid there in his bed, looking at the ceiling of his room quietly. Most of his nightmares had looked like they had happened in Hogwarts, but this nightmare had been in the Burrow. The thing is... he knew the nightmare had happened before he went to Hogwarts, so he must've been ten years at most. Another tear slid down his pale face.

He inhaled slowly and exhaled. He was terrified of finding out when it had started; he was terrified of finding out what he had made him do. He didn't want to find out. He wished the _obliviate_ was still strong. He didn't want to know anything; he wanted to be ignorant and happy again.

Laying in his bed, he looked around, he didn't think he could bear the orange room anymore. Orange was a happy colour for a happy and clean boy. He wasn't. He sighed and stood up tortuously slow.

He started to go down the stairs to the kitchen to get a warm cup of tea or milk, anything to calm himself down. He carefully avoided the squeaky stairs, not wanting to wake any one up. He didn't want the twins to know he was having nightmares, it was the sort of thing they would tease him to death with.

He paused. He could hear noises. He inched forward in the stairs slowly. As he came to the first floor, he could see that the fire was on and the noises were his parents. His voices weren't happy, his mother seemed upset. He slid down, sitting on the stairs. His heart skipped a beat, he didn't want to get caught, he retreated into the shadows of the stairs.

He could hear his parents hushed voices in the kitchen. They were arguing. About him. He could hear his mother whisper furiously that he had returned to Hogwarts different. That he wasn't eating as much as before. That he was quiet now. That he would sit without moving for hours. That something was _wrong_.

"It's probably Ron's just growing up. He's fourteen now. He's maturing and he's finding himself. Bill also had a brooding face, do you remember, dear? You were so frustrated with him, darling", said his father with his calm reassuring voice.

The teenager hugged his knees against himself. He closed his blue eyes stopping the tears from running down his face. He wanted so desperately to just be "maturing" and "growing up". He wished his greatest preoccupation were when Harry and Hermione would come over this summer. But to be honest, he was dreading it. He would have to put on a smile and act nonstop all the time when Harry got here since they would share a room.

 


End file.
